


Objects at Unrest

by Ericine



Series: Lush [2]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Alien Culture, Cute, Dancing, F/F, Femslash, Fluff, Friendship, Gymnastics, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, Language Before the Universal Translator, Physical Therapy, Post-Divorce, Recovery, Secrets, Trill Culture and Customs, Trills, also there's an alien lady band just go with it, these two are so adorable I can't even
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-17 16:39:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13080942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ericine/pseuds/Ericine
Summary: What's a former quadrant-class gymnast to do when an accident forces her to relearn how to use her legs? Slip and fall into a relationship with the woman who would become one of the most famous Starfleet captains in history. Written for Star Trek Secret Santa.





	Objects at Unrest

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lodessa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lodessa/gifts).



> Written for Star Trek Secret Santa for lodessa! I decided to combine two of the prompts: (1) Discovery: Backstory for Georgiou or Cornwell. (How did they get to where we see them in the show? What did they have to give up or lose to get there?) and (2) Crossover: Dax/A Character From a Different Series. (Dax is quite the bedroom explorer. Prefer Jadzia but any Dax will do.)
> 
> I checked the timelines, and they definitely line up! I checked Michelle Yeoh's bio and saw that her ballet training supported a lot of the martial arts she did on film. And then I worked in some of Georgiou's backstory from the novels and looked up all the Trill culture I could. It really was a fun adventure writing these two, so thank you so much!

Emony Dax watches the bubbles dance over the top of her  _ lida _ soda and wonders why she ordered this at all.

She’d come into this bar not to drink - she’s always drank sparsely because she was an athlete, and she figures now that she feels like _this_ , it’s a good time to continue that habit - but for a change in scenery. She’d been trying to take a page out of Dax’s book - Lela and Tobin had found isolation relaxing. That wasn’t working for her, though. She’s always loved an audience, even if they were unaware she was performing.

Her days of competition gymnastics are relatively far behind her - the last time she competed was maybe two years ago, give or take, but she wasn’t expecting the beginning of her retirement to include a shuttle explosion right as her world travels were about to begin. Now, she’s stuck recovering, and recovery will happen (it  _ will _ , she tells herself), but she knows very well that her legs aren’t going to be the same after this. They’ll be functional, of course, but it’s going to be a long time until she’s able to move the way she likes, sit in the splits like she does to relax and stretch while she’s thinking.

It’s times like this that she wishes the Trill relationship with their symbionts wasn’t so damn  _ secret _ . It’s not like she’d even be able to explain the dimensions of what she’s feeling with anyone here in this bar, but she had wanted to travel, and she was going to do it, dammit.

Another stupid thing about being joined: it's really only prudent to visit your home planet every other host generation, just in case someone from your past life is hanging around.

This planet is alright. It experiences a whole range of weather in the span of about a week and a half, so if she closes her eyes, it’s like she’s in several places at once, instead of struggling to walk the daily commute to her physical therapist.

She takes a sip of the drink, and it’s not as bad as she was thinking it would be, but she still feels stuck. For a few moments, she wonders how she would choreograph a floor exercise, or even just a  _ dance _ , that evoked the movement of the bubbles across the top of the soda.

Performer than she is, it’s a testament to how bad she’s feeling that she doesn’t notice the woman’s eyes on her from the other side of the room.

It’s when the drink slides in front of her that she realizes she has company. She looks up at the bartender, a sweet-looking Andorian woman, who in turn nods to someone across the room wearing a Starfleet uniform. A Human?

“Gin, lime, and soda,” the bartender tells her. A Human drink. Emony is probably right, then.

She’s surprised to feel herself smile, but then again, she’s a trained performer. She doesn’t have to feel a certain way to look another.

“Thank you,” she tells the bartender. She takes a sip. She hasn’t always cared for Human drinks - they’re too intense for her, and she’s always preferred the blander foods of Trill - but this is light and refreshing.

If she couldn’t feel the woman’s eyes on her before, she’s not sure how. She can feel them on her, even at this distance.

She looks up again. The woman is beautiful, hair a curious mixture of brown, red, and gold falling in loose curls around her shoulders (lieutenant, perhaps? Emony’s mind is rusty on this part, though she’s certainly dated a few Starfleet officers before). But Emony’s not feeling quite in the mood.

There’s an easy way to do this. She rises to her feet, making a show of unfolding her balancing apparatus and settling it into place. When she looks up again, the woman is gone.

Grimly satisfied, Emony figures she’ll cut her losses and just go home. Sleep. Try harder at  _ being _ tomorrow.

“Do you need a hand?”

Oh. That’s why she couldn’t see her anymore. The Starfleet officer’s standing right in front of her. Emony’s spots flush with embarrassment, and, judging by the curious look on the woman’s face, she’s perhaps never seen a Trill embarrassed before.

Or, Emony thinks, considering the scant number of Trill and Starfleet personnel she’s seen frequenting this bar, maybe she’s never seen a Trill at all.

She’d normally relish the thought of being someone’s introduction to anything, but right now, that's the last thing she wants to do.  


“No thank you,” Emony says, trying to make herself sound as dismissive as possible. She feels bad. This Human is only trying to be nice.

Gently, in a move that would feel like an invasion of space if it wasn't carried out with so much poise, the Starfleet officer takes the gin drink from her hand. Emony hadn’t realized she was still carrying it, and suddenly, it’s a lot easier to stand. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable,” the woman tells her. “I hope I was not too forward. You just looked like you could use some company.”

Emony realizes three things: first, that this woman is backing off and most certainly  _ not _ hitting on her anymore; second, that she’s just as comfortable offering this form of companionship as the other; and that, despite her small frame, the woman is moves with a controlled grace - more so than the other Starfleet officers Emony had met. She probably does another form of a sport in her spare time.

Emony turns to the bartender, whose antennae flick in her direction. “Would you tell someone we’re moving to that table over there?” The bartender nods.

The woman picks up both of Emony’s drinks. “I am Lieutenant Philippa Georgiou, but that is a mouthful, and I’m a bit grounded for right now, so Philippa works just fine.”

The Dax name feels a little heavy for her to bear right now. “I’m Emony,” she replies.

* * *

Despite her decision to remain, Emony feels less chatty than usual, but that’s fine, because Philippa has so many stories for someone who’s only been serving for five years (or maybe this is a normal amount of stories? Emony vaguely regrets not speaking as much about it to the officers she’s met before). She’s barely finished the  _ lida _ soda before she knows all about the routine investigation into the science mission that has temporarily grounded Philippa for investigation. However, it’s routine, so she and her fellow crewmembers got to choose where to stay put. She chose this planet because it’s close to a Starfleet base but relatively unvisited; most people preferred the warmer, more temperate vacation planets in the system.

“I don’t mind the changing seasons,” Philippa tells her. “I find them exciting. Is that what brings you here too?”

Emony frowns. “No, I’m here for my physical therapy. It happened to be the closest place with the facilities I needed.”

“Ah,” says Philippa knowingly. “That must be hard for someone who moves with so much finesse.”

Emony tenses, then realizes Philippa's just stating something she sees as fact. “I was a gymnast,” she admits. “I haven’t really practiced for a while, but I guess it’s been hard to not be able to move the way I usually do. And it’s not like I have that many other skills. And uh, thank you, I guess.”

“I grew up on a part of Earth that was not always as well-attended to as other places,” says Philippa. “All of that’s fixed now, but it was still recovering a little from the Earth-Romulan war when I was growing up. I fell into some partially melted ice - just exploring, you know, like children do. But they weren’t quite able to detect the sickness I caught from an insect while I was down there. They weren’t paying attention to what was coming out of the ice that was melting. Eventually, they fixed it, of course, but there were two months where all I could do was lie in bed taking hyposprays. I was almost too tired to move. For a while, I was terrified of it happening again, but I had to relearn my body. I didn’t feel like myself.”

“Did you?” Emony can’t help but ask, sounding a little more imploring than she’d planned. She can’t tell Philippa that she - as Tobin - had been present at some of the weapons testing for the Earth-Romulan War, that it’s as real to her as the first time she landed the double-somersaulting _do'vok'toj_ vault some fifteen years ago.

“I did. It wasn’t the same, but I also had the opportunity to build things up from scratch, work on what I wanted to work on. It was a little bit of an opportunity for reinvention. Of course, I was a child, and I think my physiology might differ a little from yours, so it’s not the same.”

Emony half-smiles. “It’s helpful, though, the story. Thank you.”

Philippa beams, and Emony finds herself wondering if this woman is this happy when she's working. Starfleet’s always seemed a little too war-loving for her home planet, despite the organization’s outward declaration of devotion to exploration and discovery. Philippa seems a lot more like the way that Starfleet wants to appear to the rest of the quadrant. She hasn’t given politics much thought before, though. “Where is home? Is it nearby? Do you have family here?”

The actual answer to that question is a little convoluted and very illegal, so Emony just shakes her head. “I’ve always grown up traveling,” she says. “My family situation is complicated.”

Philippa doesn’t push. “Well, I’m a bit of the same, though I admit that I’ve spent marginally more time on Earth growing up than I did anywhere else, and I consider that my home. But I’m not heading back for a good while, so if you’re looking to get into some trouble, I’m around.” She smiles, equal parts joy and mischief.  


When Philippa walks her to her door, Emony kisses her goodnight. She’s always been a sucker for troublemakers.

* * *

As it turns out, an official inquisition - or whatever the hell Starfleet was putting Philippa through - involves a lot of sitting around and waiting for paperwork to go through. That doesn’t seem like a huge deal to Philippa, who wastes no time in becoming cordial with everyone in the bar (the Andorian bartender’s name is Vyla, and she’s actually a quite accomplished singer in the local scene, even has her own band), then sets to work on befriending Emony’s neighbors.

Still, she finds time to meet Emony after physical therapy every morning. She introduces her to the thick, sweet, caffeinated Earth drink called  _ kopi _ , which they drink together on long walks together, of which Emony’s physical therapist approves (“a very logical arrangement,” she’d called it). Philippa’s gregariousness is contagious - or maybe Emony’s just finding solidarity with someone who holds a piece of herself that she’s forgotten. Emony finds herself reaching out to Vyla’s band and winning over Stenni, the Betazoid string player, despite initial standoffishness.

She doesn’t need equipment to help balance or protect her healing legs anymore, but she still doesn’t trust herself to dance, so Philippa dances on her own.

Emony wonders what makes a dancer want to join Starfleet. She supposes she might never know.

After a few nights of kissing goodnight on her doorstep, Emony invites her in for some  _ klah _ . It only makes sense; she’s just finished making it, and she’s made a little too much. It would go bad otherwise.

“It’s nice that you keep in touch with Trill through your food,” says Philippa. She’s very respectful and takes the furniture seats nearest the door. Emony wonders if she would have gone all the way out to sit on the balcony if Emony hadn’t gestured to the chairs. “Sometimes taste can be more of a reminder of home than sight.”

Emony had never thought of it that way. “My parents knew that I would--leave home young.” She stalls herself from saying “be joined” and reminds herself that she needs to be more careful. “They were a little distant, but my mother’s neighbor used to ask for me in her kitchen all the time. I know replicators exist, but I think she just liked to have things to do with her hands. And then I was a really active child, so I guess it was good for me to have something to with my hands as well.”

“Besides the rigorous gymnastics training, you mean?” asks Philippa, amused. Emony shrugs. “I had a lot of anger and confusion growing up,” Philippa continues. “There are physical disciplines that require - well, discipline. I tried to concentrate on those.”

Finally. Emony leans forward, interested. “Like what?”

“Muay Thai, yoga, ballet. I imagine you use the same types of discipline in artistic gymnastics.”

“Do you still train?”

“Not to the degree I used to, but yes. It’s helpful to have all the tools at your disposal in my line of work.”

“I’d love to come sometime,” Emony finds herself saying. It’s not like she’d be able to keep up. It’s hard to watch people dancing when Vyla’s band performs, let alone someone doing something other than jumping up and down to music.

“Come tomorrow,” says Philippa. “I usually go early in the morning, but we can go when I bring your  _ kopi _ . It’ll be a little different from walking, but I think that you’d be able to do a lot of the upper body strength exercises.”

She hadn’t meant that she’d wanted to do them  _ too _ . “You think I can?”

“If your physical therapist gives you permission, why not?” asks Philippa, standing. “Anyway, we both should get some rest.”

Their goodnight kiss turns heated and long, and Emony’s legs start to feel a little weak. She holds herself up on the back of her chair, and if Philippa minds that she has to hold Emony up a little too, she doesn’t say anything.

They do pull apart, eventually, just as Emony’s considering just asking her to stay over - not for sex, because she doesn’t trust her body enough for that at all - but just to have someone around when she woke up. She’s three people - or more, maybe, because sometimes she has memories from childhoods that didn’t include Dax (thought she can’t imagine her life without Dax now) - and it’s excruciating to have that going for her and not be able to share it with someone who understands.

They pull apart and stare at each other for a second. Then Philippa whispers her goodnight with a smile and shows herself out.

Emony flops into bed and tries to remember the last time she’d tried doing a push-up. Or a pull-up. Or  _ anything _ , really. She knows the accident wasn't  _that_ long ago but her body feels like it’s aged years - and she  _knows_ what age feels like.

Everything just feels _wrong_.  


It’s not that Philippa can understand her. She’s not allowed to understand. But Emony figures that if she understands loneliness and isolation, that’s enough.

* * *

Emony wobbles on her forearms, fights for her balance, and almost comes crashing down onto her still-healing-from-being-shattered legs when she feels a small, strong pair of arms grasp her around the waist and bring her feet gently down to the ground, skillfully avoiding the worst of Emony's injuries.  


It’s a repeat of last time. And the time before that. And the time before that.

“This is a mistake,” she whispers, folding her legs under her. She doesn’t want to cry, especially not in front of Philippa, who is both a person she doesn’t know all that well and a person she’s been kissing every night.

Also a person who looks great in - regulation workout clothes? Did Starfleet have regulation pajamas as well?

Philippa opens her legs into a split and leans forward. “You know your body better than anyone else - I’m not saying you don’t. But it’s possible that it’s more psychological than physical.”

“It’s definitely psychological,” whispers Emony, her vision blurring with tears.

And that might actually be worse, she realizes, as two of her tears land on her hands in front of her - if the problem isn’t with her body and is with her mind. She can fix her body (maybe, probably, hopefully), but she doesn’t know how to make her mind go back to the way it’s supposed to be, especially when she knows what to do, just not how to  _ make herself do it _ .

“We can stop for today,” Philippa tells her gently, reaching across to take her hands. “Or, if you want, you can just do the arm motions for my routine. You don’t have to start with a headstand.”

“More of an armstand, really,” whispers Emony. Her vision clears, when she looks up at Philippa, the woman looks politely curious.

“Why, may I ask, did you start with that, of all things?”

Emony giggles, in spite of herself. “That’s how I used to think sometimes,” she admits. “It changes my perspective. The world looks different upside down, and it always helped me concentrate on things.”

It’s a bad explanation of the way the action actually makes her feel, but the look Philippa gives her after she says it makes her want to kiss her right now, if it didn’t mean that she was going to get her face all wet.

Emony does end up getting on her feet, and while she , she’s forgotten a lot of the rudimentary routine that goes into it. Together, they do the most basic of drills, and she struggles through the  _ grand plié _ in all positions, but it’s still the most work outside of physical therapy that her legs have done in months. It feels productive.

She tries to hide that her legs are shaking after, as she and Philippa have their coffee. Philippa’s Starfleet quarters are closer to the dance studio than Emony’s, so it’s the first time Emony gets to see them. She marvels at the art on the walls. She’s never seen anything like it before.

“I’ve been to a lot of places,” Philippa says, following Emony’s eyes to the walls. “I like to take bits and pieces of the places that feel like home to me on Earth. It helps me build my own. It’s not prudent to have so many belongings, nor are we allowed to take a lot of things around with us, but I think that what I have is quite sufficient.” Her hand hovers above Emony’s knee, then draws her hand back. “Are you alright?”

Emony smiles tiredly. She always forgets how tired crying can make her. “I think it was a lot for my legs,” she giggles.

Philippa holds out her hands. “May I?”

She’s been through enough sports medicine over the years to know that there’s no medical benefit to putting her legs in Philippa’s lap, but it makes her feel better anyway.

Philippa launches into stories about the beaches of her childhood, and at some point, they end up lying beside each other. If Philippa notices her drifting off, she doesn’t say anything, and as they shift into each other again, Emony wonders if being close was what Philippa wanted all along, just like Emony did.

* * *

They nap through most of the afternoon. Emony wakes up to Philippa watching her as the late afternoon sun streams through the windows.

Part of her acknowledges how nice it is to be held, even as she tenses in surprise. “I’m--”

“Don’t apologize,” Philippa smiles. “If anything, I’m the one who should apologize. I cannot tell you the last time I took a nap in the middle of the day.”

Emony blinks through her fatigue. “I mean, I guess neither of us have anything to do, so there’s no time like the present.”

Philippa places her hand on Emony’s cheek. “I’ve liked your attitude from the moment I met you.”

Emony kisses her for that. “How? I’ve been nothing but sour.”

“I suppose I should explain. Do you think you’re up for a walk?”

She’s so comfortable that the thought of moving hasn’t even occurred to her, but she supposes there’s no reason why they wouldn’t be able to do this later. “Sure.”

* * *

Characteristic of the planet, the last few days have been scorchingly hot, so it’s now snowing lightly. It’s not windy (now, anyway), but it’s really cold. They bundle up (Emony expresses distinct amusement that Starfleet even has uniform winter wear) and walk outside, waving at Vyla and some other Andorians on the street. They’ve carved themselves a fort of some sort into the snow and are sitting in it drinking.

“In her element?” Emony asks, slipping her hand into Philippa’s.

“Something like that.”

They walk for a little, watching the snowflakes flutter down.

“I was married once,” Philippa begins, then stops. “Is that a word that makes sense to you? Married or bonded?”

“Bonded” makes more sense to her, but she’s been around a few planets enough to know what the other word means. “Either.”

“He was not from the same part of Earth as me, so usually my surname gives it away to Humans, but it was a few years back. It is cordial; that is why I kept his name--and I guess I couldn’t be bothered to go through all of the paperwork to change it back. It wasn’t going to work out. I have to be away for such long periods of time. And now, I could go back, but I chose to stay here in the meantime. It still feels a little funny being on Earth, even though it is my home.”

Emony squeezes her hand. “Oh, I’m sorry.”

“You are not the only one who hasn’t been in the best mood,” says Philippa, which comes as a genuine surprise to Emony. She never would have been able to tell. “But I think that maybe we have both been able to lift each others’ spirits.”

A change in the color of the air has Emony looking up at the sky. The snow’s falling faster now, covering the ground in white, and the wind’s beginning to pick up.

She pulls Philippa forward, in the direction of her place. “Come home with me,” she smiles, feeling bolder, a little more like herself.

* * *

This is a dance that Emony remembers how to do well.

She closes the door behind them and pulls Philippa her mouth, making work of the fastenings on her jacket with her fingers. Philippa does the same. They peel the layers away from each other until they’re left in basic clothes. For Philippa, that’s her uniform. For Emony, it’s a sweater and leggings.

She pulls Philippa into her bedroom and onto her bed, and it’s a little like the couch was this afternoon, except with more room to touch and explore.

Except she feels like pulling back. “Is it going to be weird if I ask if you've been with a--uh..."  


Philippa smooths Emony’s hair and smiles. “You mean a non-Human? I have, a few times.”

“Any of them Trill?”

Philippa shakes her head. “Is there something I should know?”

There’s so much she wants to tell her. “No, it’s not like that.” Emony kisses her. “I mean, I’m sure it’s different, but not--too different?”

Philippa's eyes light up, and Emony almost laughs. She's _so_ Starfleet. “You’ve done this before.”

“Yes?”

Philippa props herself up on one elbow. Her uniform jacket is lying on the bed behind her, and the tank top she wears underneath is falling off one of her shoulders. “Did you find it very strange?” she asks, a combination of empathy and curiosity.

Emony supposes because of her situation, the majority of people she’s slept with haven’t been Trill. “I guess not?” She eyes Philippa again. “We don’t have to talk about this.”

“And we don’t have to do this either. Only if you feel comfortable.”

Emony’s about to argue with her when she realizes that sex in this body  _ would _ be weird. Still. She lets herself drop onto the bed. “I want to be over this so badly.”

Philippa shifts sideways and curls into her, kissing her neck and wrapping her arms around her. “When I met you, you couldn’t walk unaided. Now, look at you. You’re getting better all the time. Now tell me about Trill.”

“It’s like Australia.”

Philippa laughs out loud. “Wait. _Really_?”

“I’ve never been to Earth, but everything I’ve ever read and have been told is that it’s like Australia.”

“Hmm. Shame it’s a closed planet. I tell you what. If I ever overcome this silly fear of mine of going home, I’ll take you to Australia, provided you still find me interesting.”

Emony hugs her. “You’re the most interesting person I’ve ever met.” She pauses then and considers. "Are you alright?"  


"Some things just take time," Philippa tells her, and she looks a little pained but like she believes what she's saying, so Emony doesn't press. "Besides, it's more interesting to see how the universe decides to heal you."

Emony kisses her, then groans. " _So Starfleet_."

She can't quite remember, but it's possible they laugh themselves to sleep.

* * *

The next few weeks go like this: Emony all but moves into Philippa’s quarters, which feel as much like home as anything and infinitely familiar. Her range of motion improves to the point where she’s advised to work on strength and flexibility training, building her muscles back up again. Slowly. Her physical therapist emphasizes the _slowly_.  


It gets easier to hold her feet in position for longer periods of time, and she can almost put all of her weight on one leg for an extended period of time. Stenni helps her obtain some rhythmic gymnastics ribbons (less impact, more flexibility, and everything looks just as pretty), and Emony shows Philippa how to use them. Vyla composes them some music for their dance sessions.  


It helps Emony take her mind off things. She, not thinking, eventually lands not one but two one-handed back handsprings, one after the other.

They’re slow ones, involving very careful placement of her feet. Still, she’s so excited that she and Philippa end up making out on the floor for a little while.

* * *

That night, Philippa, from bed, watches her attempt the headstand on the floor.

“Can’t you just be satisfied with what you did today and try tomorrow?” she asks, albeit encouragingly. “I think what you did is a lot harder than what you’re trying to do now.”

“Satisfied?” Emony has one leg in the air. She comes back down into a sitting position to look at her directly. “Of course not.”

“That’s my girl.”

Emony laughs a little and concentrates again - on three weeks of aggressive physical therapy and dance and concerts and cuisine from all over the quadrant. She thinks about the woman whose bed she shares, her patience and the way she clings to hope the way she clung to life in an explosion that could have ended her - and more importantly, Dax.

She clings to balance now and kicks both feet up into the air - and stays.

She can hear the bed creak just a little as Philippa slides off and sits on the side her head is facing. “So,” she whispers, like she’s trying to keep from scaring a small animal, “how long are you supposed to do this until we can deem it a success? Should I get a chronometer, or--"  


Emony gracefully - and with a bit of her signature artistic flair - hands on her feet and holds out her hand. “Take me to bed.”

Philippa smiles. “Yes, ma’am,” she says, eyes bright with laughter and wonder, and kisses her.

* * *

They get about a month more together before they have to go their separate ways. It’s unspoken knowledge that they’re more of a ships in the night kind of thing. But when Philippa gets promoted to commander tand has to wait to change assignments, and Emony’s judging a junior gymnastics competition in the area, Philippa makes good on her promise. And that’s Emony’s first time on Earth.

**Author's Note:**

> If you're a gymnastics junkie, the vault I talk about here is the Produnova vault. I figure the Trill call it something different.
> 
>  _Kopi_ is Malaysian style coffee with condensed milk. Very sweet and packs a punch in the morning. :)
> 
> There is some kind of follow-up to this where this is a story that Jadzia tells Beverly because Beverly is still so conflicted over her experience with Odan and is looking for answers, and then Jadzia and Beverly become friends because of it?


End file.
